


Born to be Posthumous

by EvilMuffins



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tending Wounds, see notes for warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilMuffins/pseuds/EvilMuffins
Summary: Mementos faded away then. It was no different from that fleeting transitional fog of temporary non-existence typically experienced when exiting the Metaverse, really, save for the fact that the real world failed to materialize before him. Instead, there was nothing more than a vague notion in Akechi's mind that he may finally be dying.It was about goddamn time.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kitagawa Yusuke
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Born to be Posthumous

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for self harm by proxy in that Akechi purposely lets Shadows beat the snot out of him.
> 
> Title taken from the biography for one of my favorite American artists, Edward Gorey.

What did he expect would happen? That Yusuke would dip a brush in his blood, fashioning a portrait of folly from his viscera?

“Just blowing off some steam,” Akechi explained, allowing his head--suddenly too heavy on his aching shoulders-- to fall back onto the pillow.

Yusuke hadn't asked.

The ceiling in Yusuke's dorm room must have been nothing less than maddening for an artist to live with. Plain white, and he wasn't afforded the freedom to change it. The entire span of it looked no different from the bedroom ceiling in Akechi's own apartment, really. Of course, Akechi owned the damn place, more or less. With the amount he forked over each month, the landlord would never quibble over some shitty little stars glued to the ceiling, like the ones he had had as a kid.

“Ah,” Yusuke made an appreciative noise. It wasn't as if Akechi were about to receive a gold star for world's greatest house-guest anytime soon—not while he was bleeding all over Yusuke's only set of sheets, at least—and so he turned his head toward where Yusuke knelt at his bedside. He had followed Akechi's gaze upward. “The patterns are fascinating, are they not?”

All Akechi saw was a span of white.

Yusuke continued, “At times the subtle ripples appear akin to a great wave ravaging the shoreline.”

“I'm bleeding,” Akechi pointed out helpfully.

“Hm, yes. Quite so.” Yusuke flipped open the first aid kit that he no longer bothered to keep in his bathroom cabinet. The need for it had rose significantly in the preceding weeks.

Akechi hissed as Yusuke dabbed antiseptic all along his upper arm. For an artist, his strokes with the peroxide-soaked cotton ball were less than delicate. In actuality, that had been the chief reason why he hadn't gone to Haru, or even Ann for this. And their leader was certainly out of the picture, Akechi thought, a cozy blanket of smugness settling over him.

Either way, if a one-time teammate had shown up bleeding all over her doorstep late at night, Akechi didn't doubt that he would have been treated with care by some of the others, despite any lingering distrust.

Of course, Yusuke also lacked no small amount of faith in Akechi's motives, as he well should. An honest man to the core, heavily-lashed eyes never failing to belay that fact.

“You know, I had entertained a brief notion of slamming the door in your face,” Yusuke noted, tearing the plastic wrap off a fresh roll of gauze. Akechi had never so much as offered a single yen in reimbursement for the kit, although he was fairly certain that Yusuke had gone out and purchased it expressly for Akechi's care.

“Are you talking about tonight, or the first time?” Akechi smiled pleasantly.

“Both, if I am to be frank.” Yusuke always wrapped the gauze bandages too tightly, and Akechi winced appreciatively. “I am a poor replacement for a trained medical professional, and while I understand your wish to abstain from the spotlight at the moment, Akira's doctor in Yongen-jaya would no doubt serve you well.”

In a pathetic attempt to seat himself upright, Akechi used his free arm to wriggle himself against the headboard. The thought crossed his mind that he should also pay Yusuke back for the new set of bed-sheets that he would surely be needing, but it faded as quickly as it had came. “Maybe. But where else but here would I receive such impeccable bedside manner? Besides, I come here for the art, if you must know.”

“Do you truly?” Yusuke raised a brow as he fastened the end of the bandage. “Because I find that difficult to believe.”

“It's true!” Akechi said sincerely, watching with mild interest as red splotches blossomed through the white gauze. “Every time you open your door to me, I see a new canvas set up, yet another work of art already in progress. You know, after losing such a dear friend as Kurusu to such a tragedy as suicide of all things, many would take a hiatus while they mourned.”

“I suppose that those who know me might say that I am not the same as 'many',” Yusuke replied serenely. “We all have our own methods of coming to terms with traumatic events, after all.”

Akechi let out a laugh, eyes roaming toward the mundane ceiling once more. “I suppose that we do.”

A moment or two went by, Akechi acutely aware of Yusuke's dark eyes resting upon him heavily, as if they needed a home to respire after a long day. _Did_ Yusuke even sleep? The previous times Akechi had stayed over, Yusuke had always disappeared into his living room, presumably to sleep on the couch, but maybe he just painted all night long. Who the hell knew. It wasn't as if Akechi were married to his bed either, late nights spent planning his next move in whatever Palace Shido had set his own personal hunting dog loose in, or early mornings scribbling out cloyingly pleasant scripts for his 'unscripted' tv appearances.

“Does it hurt?” Yusuke blinked finally, asking mildly as if inquiring about the day's weather.

“You ask that _now_?” Akechi gawked. Really, he should have been used to Yusuke's lack of awareness by now, but his head still felt as if it had been replaced by a sack of spent bullets. Yusuke had still yet to ask why Akechi kept wandering into Mementos all on his own time and again ever since Akira's arrest and subsequent demise. Finally, Akechi had seen fit moments ago to answer anyway. “But, no, not anymore since you've patched me up,” he lied.

Yusuke's soft smile cut into his heart. “I'm glad to hear it.”

After tidying up the rest of the first aid kit back into its case, he stowed it back away under the bed. Standing over the bed as he was, Akechi was suddenly struck once again by just how _tall_ Yusuke was. No... that wasn't quite right, he though blearily. There was nothing more than an inch or two difference between them, but Yusuke was lanky, everything about him long and slender. Perhaps someday, if he ever hit his twenties or thirties, he might become graceful, elegant even. As things stood, however, Yusuke was decidedly ungainly, if one were to ignore his face and focus solely on his figure.

What would that body look like in his place, Akechi wondered. Bloody and bruised, sprawled across the bed. The image made Akechi's mouth go dry. Come to think of it, Yusuke hadn't even offered him a cup of water yet. He really was terrible at this entire hospitality business. Although, would Akechi have been any better? Treated him tenderly? Or would he have allowed time to finish off what the Shadows had started?

“You can have the bed tonight,” Akechi offered cheerfully, using his good hand to pat the mattress.

Yusuke's eyes widened slightly, truly dismayed. “Is it uncomfortable?”

“Oh no, it's really very soft as a cloud,” Akechi replied truthfully before continuing on, “I just worry about imposing on you, that's all.”

“If that were truly the case, then you would have found yourself a real doctor, rather than showing up here for the third time in as many weeks." Yusuke frowned. "The couch will suffice for myself. Now, will you be needing anything else?”

“Not a thing!” If Akechi passed out on the kitchenette floor while getting himself a glass of water at two AM and cracked his head wide open, well that was Yusuke's own damn fault.

Nodding, Yusuke bent down, leaning in. Gently, he traced a finger over the length of the bandage, only stopping once he had ghosted over the back of Akechi's hand. A chill washed over his spine.

“It is curious,” Yusuke mused, “That your injuries would persist after leaving the Metaverse.”

“Well, it's all based on our cognition, isn't it? I suppose that my brain is so convinced that the wounds are real, they become so.” All the while he spoke, Akechi was acutely aware of the slender, calloused hand resting on his wrist, the touch more searing than any injury. “Maybe I am just a coward, after all. The moment I go into the Metaverse without a big group to back me up, my brain just short-circuits.” He giggled, immediately wishing he had gone for his usual pleasant tv laugh instead. Laying it on way too thick, even for himself.

* * *

Yusuke was a heavy sleeper. Likely, the trait had been born from growing up in a busy household, surrounded by Madarame's other students before they had all bailed out.

And then there was Akechi, who of course had gone the opposite way, just like he did with every other damn thing throughout his entire life. Bouncing around between foster homes had bought him a wariness that followed him like a specter, prodding him awake at each tapping of a branch against his window, or footsteps coming from the floor above his room.

On that night, however, it was the blaring alarm clock of pain in his arm that had kept him awake. A shame, really. Yusuke's bed truly had been comfortable for one issued by the school. Hell, for all Akechi knew, Yusuke went out and bought it himself. Not that Akechi was anything approaching an artist, but he'd imagine that good sleep was an integral part of the process. But then again, so was being well-nourished.

As he padded past the couch, Akechi paused to glance at Yusuke's slumbering form.

It would have been so simple to hold a pillow over his face. If he enjoyed following Kurusu so fucking much, then Yusuke could follow him straight to Hell.

Instead, Akechi gently pulled up the sheet from where it had slipped down onto the floor, draping it over Yusuke's thin frame.

Damn that face of his. Eyelashes so long that they practically touched his high cheekbones.

 _Jealousy..._ That was how Akechi rationalized the roiling in his chest as he breezed out the door.

* * *

“Hey brat,” the shadow spat, towering down over him, “Ain't you gonna fight back?”

It was still peculiar to Akechi, hearing the Shadows speak for any purpose other than begging for their worthless lives.

Akechi tilted his head, smiling sweetly as he tossed aside his sword. It clattered to the rail track like the plastic toy it was. “I would prefer not to, if it's all the same to you.”

“No understand you, little boy!”

A plume of fire materialized from the still air of the underground, and Akechi could hear the restless whispers belonging to Robin Hood and Loki alike, their murmurs rattling around his mind like a forgotten set of keys in the back of a desk drawer.

The pain seared his upper leg as flame engulfed him, incinerating the cloth of his pants as Akechi fell to one knee.

There was a Bead tucked away in his pocket, a trophy from a easy-won victory weeks ago. A single prayer with it clutched in his hand would quell the pain in an instant.

Prayers weren't a luxury afforded the damned.

The creature came hurdling at him, sending his body airborne before slamming into the Mementos wall with a sickening crack. Something warm and wet ran down the back of his head as claws tore into his torso. Red dribbled out from between ragged flesh, painting the shreds of his jacket like pigment across a blank canvas.

Distantly, Akechi could hear the creature huff, “He dead. No fun, these humans...”

Mementos faded away then. It was no different from that fleeting transitional fog of temporary non-existence typically experienced when exiting the Metaverse, really, save for the fact that the real world failed to materialize before him. Instead, there was nothing more than a vague notion in Akechi's mind that he may finally be dying.

It was about goddamn time.

* * *

Gradually, he became aware of something warm surrounding him, the scent of leather tickling at his nose, all culminating in an alarming sense of safety.

Fighting to open eyes that he had been certain would never see again, Akechi was greeted by the blurry shape of a white mask, outlined in red. It was then that he realised a pair of thin arms held him tight, zipper pressing into his cheek.

A deep voice spoke softly, “Such a fool.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Pretty sexy of me to keep writing even after the world came to an end *sunglass emoji*
> 
> Find me @  
> https://twitter.com/mikan_komaeda  
> https://evil-muffins.tumblr.com/


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